


Again and Again (No End in Sight)

by IcyPanther



Series: Fic of the Month [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, Overexertion, Platonic Relationships, Protective Keith (Voltron), Red Paladin Lance (Voltron), Sort Of, platonic klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 13:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Lance’s arms were trembling and his legs felt like jelly and there was an ache building in his chest where his breath came in sharp pants as he wrapped up the training simulation. His score was lower than before. Not good enough. He had to do better. He had to be better. “Again,” he whispered, panted, summoning another round. And again. And again. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, until he was better. But with that goal... he might never stop at all.





	Again and Again (No End in Sight)

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Season 4 between episodes 1 and 2  
**Warning notes:** None

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

As soon as the sequence ended Lance summoned another one.

Harder and harder and harder.

Faster and faster and faster.

He had to be better.

He couldn’t afford not to be.

“Again,” he panted the command into the training room module.

Level forty-five flashed on the screen. 

Lance brought his bayard back up to his shoulder.

His arm shook.

The scope wavered.

He realized a tick later it wasn’t just from his shaking limb but that his eyes were actually blurry.

He blinked them several times.

It didn’t help much.

He started the simulation anyway.

It was ten bots this time, five on the ground and five in the air. 

Lance dove into the course like a man possessed.

He supposed he sort of was.

He had to be.

Keith had spent all of his freetime training.

And now Keith was no longer a Paladin.

If they could replace someone like him…

Then they definitely could replace someone like Lance.

And the thought of not being a Paladin anymore…

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

Losing Blue had been awful enough. He could still feel the ache from her missing presence that the Red Lion would never be able to fill because he felt it.

Red was still Keith’s Lion.

And yet Keith was no longer a Paladin.

A Voltron Lion wanted someone no longer a Paladin more than she wanted Lance.

Lance couldn’t blame her. 

Keith had been an amazing pilot, probably the best she’d ever had.

And now she had him.

And unlike Blue, who had buoyed him up like her elemental water suggested, Red’s flames only burned. They scorched and destroyed and she was quick with her temper, her dissatisfaction, when he did not pilot her as she wanted to be, when he did not leap headlong into the fray like Keith had always done.

Red tolerated him, she did not like him.

And a Paladin was nothing without their Lion.

So he had to prove himself to her, show her that he was worthy to be her pilot, that he could keep up with Keith.

He had to prove himself to Allura and Shiro, that he was a valuable member of the team.

Because if Keith, the best pilot the Garrison had seen since Shiro, who was closer to Shiro than any other member of the team, whose skill with a sword was mesmerizing, was replaceable…

The Lance certainly was.

And if he didn’t measure up…

Keith was only a transmission away. They could summon him back, request he rejoin Voltron. 

And for the good of the universe…

Lance would step down. He’d told Keith that once upon a time.

He would do it.

It would break his heart, shatter his spirit, but he would do it.

For the good of the universe. 

He could not allow himself to be so selfish as to not give it its best chance.

That didn’t mean though that he had to just stand by and wait for it to happen.

No.

He would get better. Faster. Stronger.

He would become a Paladin the Red Lion found worthy, not one she’d had no choice but to accept.

He would become a Red Paladin that Allura and Shiro could count on, both on and off the battlefield. 

And so he had to train.

All the time.

He’d barely done anything else since Keith had left for the Blade just over a week ago.

Hunk was worried, he knew. It wasn’t like Lance to spend this much time training.

But that was where Hunk was wrong. The old Lance, the goofball and the weak link, didn’t spend time training. Red Paladin Lance who had just had a cold slap of reality in the face did.

He promised Hunk he was being careful; getting plenty of sleep and eating regularly and he made a point to show for dinner every evening and Hunk had still been wary but the worst of his unease had faded.

But Hunk had been embroiled in a project the better part of the last two days with Pidge -- some fancy science thing Lance had no hope of following -- and while he still made a showing at dinner and tried to get at least six hours of sleep -- which should be more than doable as he was pushing his body to the limits -- he was often awoken by nightmares and feelings of _ not enough, never enough, cargo pilot _ and without Hunk to hover he found himself more and more often at the training deck because it’s not like he had any special projects or assignments to work on.

As the last bot fell around him a glance at the monitor showed it was nearly eleven hundred varga.

He’d been here for almost five hours. 

He should take a break.

His arms were trembling and his legs felt like jelly and there was an ache building in his chest where his breath came in sharp pants and the armor dug into his ribcage.

But a second glance at the monitor showed his score on the level he’d completed three times now had been his worst one; six seconds slower than his best even if every diagnostic showed a perfect shot.

Not good enough.

But Lance could feel the exhaustion starting to set in and the idea of going another round made his stomach twist with nausea.

He couldn’t.

Failure hung heavy with the admission and he closed his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath, trying to convince himself it wasn’t that. It was practical. Safety measures. How many times had he heard Shiro gently chiding Keith about overdoing it and knowing Coran had to put failsafe measures on the system to lock the mullet out after so much time? There were no such things on Lance’s parameters though because of course there was no worry of him pushing himself too hard.

Why did that thought taste so bitter? That was a _ good _thing, that he wasn’t some reckless idiot who had to have a system tell them went to stop.

He took another breath.

Okay.

Fine.

No more simulations today.

But there was a tight feeling in his chest that he still hadn’t done enough, that he needed to do more.

Laps.

He’d run some laps. Nothing crazy, maybe a couple miles. He could stop whenever he wanted if it got to be too much (even though he knew he wouldn’t) and it was safer than shooting simulations.

Armor or no armor?

It was weighing heavy now on already shaky limbs and breathing hurt.

He left it on. 

Battles wouldn’t give him the option of whether it was too heavy or not and why practice in less than likely conditions? He did pop his helmet off though, the motion sending him staggering and he caught himself on the monitor, the helmet clattering to the ground.

He winced at that. 

That was no way to treat Paladin armor. 

He managed to bend down and pick it up, setting it gently atop the console. He took a few sips from the water pouch, the water tasting good on his dry throat but settling uneasily a few ticks later in his stomach.

And go.

He was just delaying now.

He rolled his shoulders back twice and then forced leaden legs into a shaky jog, angling for the exterior of the training room. Pidge had measured it once; six laps around the perimeter was nearly two miles. 

He could do that.

No problem.

It was just one foot in front of the other.

Over and over.

Lance looked down at his feet as they hugged the wall.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The sight was making him dizzy.

He lifted his head up, but the angle only made it worse.

Dark specks floated across his vision.

He dropped his head again.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Was the room getting darker?

No.

He frowned.

Step.

Step.

Step.

No, he realized.

But everything was tunneling, the outskirts of his eyes seeing only darkness.

The pounding ache in his head increased.

His chest heaved.

He felt faint.

He needed to stop.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Just finish the lap.

He just had to finish the lap.

He lifted his head to check his location; had to be nearly around by now.

The spots flooded his vision.

His breath hitched.

His feet became tangled in one another.

There was the weightless, terrifying sensation of falling, of floating, of where was up where was down? and he might have thrown his arms out but he couldn’t tell as everything was moving slowly, moving too quickly and he felt _ sick _ and _ Dios _ he was going to fall, he was going to _ fail. _

Lance was unconscious before he hit the ground.

xxx

Keith meandered through the castle hallways, trying to ignore the weird feeling in the back of his head that he shouldn’t be here.

This wasn’t home anymore.

And unlike all of the foster homes he’d been removed from (no one wanted him, never good enough) he had made the decision to leave all on his own. 

He wasn’t sure why that seemed to feel worse. 

But it made sense. There were too many Paladins. He was stretched thin, trying to be both a Paladin and a Blade, trying to find out more about his heritage about… about maybe his mom. It had been a logical decision, which should have been his first clue something wasn’t entirely right.

But it was done now. And it’s not like he wasn’t unwelcome at the castle anymore. It just…

It wasn’t home.

He hadn’t meant to come back so soon either but Kolivan had needed a datachip from their most recent mission delivered fast and Keith was not only one of the fastest pilots but he had castle clearance and could let himself in. 

And maybe, maybe, he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought about missing familiar hallways and familiar faces not hidden behind masks.

But upon arrival everyone was busy; Shiro, Coran and Allura doing something with the Coalition and apparently the data on the chip was above his classification level -- and wasn’t that something? Before the Coalition, before joining with the Blade they had _ all _always been on the same page and the levels gave him the sour taste of the Garrison and how they had hid what happened on Kerberos -- so they were unavailable for the next few hours and Hunk and Pidge were doing some project and while he enjoyed watching them work they had been hyper-focused and he didn’t want to disturb them. 

That left Lance.

But Lance wasn’t in the kitchen, the lounge, his room and a quick pop to Red’s hangar had revealed the interior to be dark and Keith had hurried away before the pang of longing overwhelmed him.

So with nothing else to do he’d let his feet carry him.

And as he should have expected, they’d taken him to the training wing.

He felt the rueful grin and shook his head at himself.

But as familiar as the training wing was it should have been dark when not in use but the main room was lit up white and teal.

There was only one reasonable explanation and it made Keith’s eyes widen.

Lance was _ training? _

But as he drew closer to the viewing window he didn’t see the other boy and there was no active simulation running. Just an empty training room.

Maybe he’d finished already? Hit the showers and the room just hadn’t powered down?

But something pricked at the back of Keith’s head that that didn’t feel right.

Something wasn’t right.

He’d long, long ago learned to listen to his instincts and so he brought himself level to the viewing window, looking not just at the monitor -- level forty-five with one hundred percent accuracy, impressive -- but glancing around the room as a whole.

His breath caught as his eyes tracked to the far right side.

He’d found Lance.

Except he wasn’t training.

He had collapsed.

And he wasn’t moving.

God.

God what the fuck?

Keith was flinging open the door and at Lance’s side within the space of a few ticks.

Lance was face down, one arm outstretched and the other trapped beneath his body and the floor, his legs overlying one another.

He made no reaction that he was aware of Keith’s presence, of the sound of the door having embedded itself in the wall from Keith’s rapid opening.

God.

God, was he…?

Keith wasn’t gentle as he pushed on Lance’s shoulder and forced the other boy onto his back, urgency winning over anything else. And while it was hard to tell as Lance was wearing full armor there was the barest rise of his chest.

Breathing.

Good.

Breathing was good.

But Lance was pale beneath his tan and despite the fact he was sweating -- drenched in it -- there was hardly any color to his face. Not a wound that Keith could see; no blood puddle, no excessively scorched armor and no weapon he could make out that would have done this.

Which meant…

Meant Lance had done this to himself.

“You _ idiot,” _he seethed without any heat, fear still beating a timpani in his own chest, because Lance wasn’t as stupid, as reckless as Keith.

And yet apparently he was.

Why?

Why had he done this?

How long had he been here for?

To be answered later. Right now Keith had other priorities.

His hands went to the latches on the armor, releasing the chest piece and pulling it off and tossing it to the side. 

Lance shuddered out a deeper breath as the worst of the pressure was relieved. 

Keith made quick work of the other pieces on Lance’s upper half; arm guards and shoulder pads, and then he hefted Lance up and pulled off the back half of the chestpiece. 

Lance remained limp during the handling.

It was freaking Keith out more than a little bit.

Lance was never still.

Not like this.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, voice echoing in the room as he dragged Lance over to the wall, propping the other boy up and tapped a still far too pale cheek. 

Lance stirred but did not wake.

Keith left him there for the moment and made his way to the console where he remembered seeing a drink pouch.

Two were unopened.

Idiot.

He brought them both back over and upended one over Lance’s head.

Lance _ jerked, _eyes flying open and a gasp overtaking him that morphed into a cough and he hunched over, slender shoulders shaking from the force.

“Awake now?” Keith asked, demanded, as the coughing came to a halt, unable to summon up anything gentler as Lance was an _ idiot _ and God help him he’d _ scared _Keith and he was not going to let him off the hook.

He had been his leader once and goddamnit if Lance thought he wasn’t in for a reaming.

Keith was well aware he was being a hypocrite and he didn’t give a fuck. 

“K-Keith?”

And damn it, when he sounded like that Keith was finding it hard to hold onto his immediate anger.

Lance sounded so unsure.

And scared.

“Drink,” he ordered in place of a response, jamming the straw in with more force than required into the other pouch and shoving it at Lance’s face.

A trembling hand lifted and weakly gripped it.

Keith didn’t intervene despite the pathetic sight as he was inwardly letting out a sigh of relief.

It was shaky but Lance still had full coordination, still had muscle strength. 

“What were you doing?” he tried to keep his voice even as Lance finished the pouch.

Dark eyes flicked up to his and then down to his lap. “Training,” came the mumbled answer.

“Training?” Keith repeated and Lance gave a jerky nod, pausing the motion halfway through and a groan he likely didn’t intend passing through his lips. “And where does collapsing and passing out fit into your training?”

“I, I didn’t--”

“You did,” Keith’s fingers curled into his palms and he hated how Lance hunched forward, ducking his head. “Goddamnit, Lance. What the hell were you thinking?”

Lance let out a laugh that was too bitter for him. “I guess I wasn’t.”

“No,” Keith growled. “No. You don’t get to pull that. You can’t call me reckless and then do shit like this. You’re the Red Paladin now, you--”

“For now.”

The words were barely audible and Lance flinched as soon as they were out.

“For now?’ Keith echoed.

Something sick curled in his stomach.

What had happened?

He’d only been gone a _ week. _

“Nevermind,” Lance whispered. “I--”

“No, explain it,” Keith interrupted. “For now? What the hell does that mean? What the fuck does that have to do with, with this?” he flung a hand out to encompass the training room. 

To his alarm Lance let out a sound that sounded like a sob.

“Lance?”

Keith sank down to kneel in front of Lance as he became aware he was _ looming _and he knew firsthand how such an action felt.

“You left,” Lance choked out, voice high.

He still wouldn't look at Keith.

“You left,” he repeated. “You… you were replaced. With, with _ me. _ In Red. And I… I’m not good enough. I’m not like you. And, and if _ you, _the great Keith Kogane,” and the words sounded so confident and sad at the same time, “could be replaced then… then a cargo pilot like me…”

“You’re not a cargo pilot,” were the first words that Keith blurted out past the twisting taking root now in his chest. 

He’d never realized how deep such a comment had struck.

“You’re not a cargo pilot,” he repeated more gently. He lifted a hesitant hand and placed it on Lance’s shoulder. Lance did not pull away and it gave Keith the strength to continue. “You’re a Paladin of Voltron. A, a really good one. And you… you’re not replaceable.”

Lance finally looked at him, tears lining ocean eyes. “But--”

“You’re not. You’re…” Keith felt his cheeks darkening. These were not his type of conversations but Lance needed to hear it. 

“You’re irreplaceable,” Keith continued, no backing out now. “No, no matter what Lion you’re in. Or how much training you do. Of which this was too much,” and that pulled a shaky laugh. “You have to take care of yourself,” Keith told him. “Because the team relies on you to take care of them. So… so no more of this.”

Keith wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by the last part but Lance nodded in agreement and the shadows that had filled his face had lifted.

“_Gracias, _Keith.”

“Don’t thank me,” Keith muttered, averting his eyes now. “Just… just take of yourself better.”

“I’ll try.”

“No,” Keith’s voice was heated again and Lance looked surprised. “Don’t try. Do. Because if I come back and find your ass sprawled out on the floor again I’m going to be fucking pissed.”

And Lance laughed, not the sad one of before or the shaky one.

Really laughed.

At Keith’s warning wrapped up in a threat.

Keith felt his own lips cracking into a smile too.

“I promise,” Lance said, more sincerely although his eyes were still dancing. He swallowed and his expression sobered more. “I promise. I will.”

“Good. Now come on, let’s get you up. No more training for you today. Or the rest of the week.”

“‘m gonna need that in writing for Shiro,” Lance teased as he accepted Keith’s hand. He wavered once he was at height and Keith, with a sigh he really didn’t feel, draped one of Lance’s arms about his shoulders before he fell over.

He could feel Lance’s smile and his own grew in response.

Things had felt wrong before.

Now they felt right.

And no matter what challenges they faced, be it battles outside or in, they would rise up and meet them.

Together.

Again.

And again.

And again.

**Author's Note:**

> My Fic of the Month from March. 
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


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